The grey sea
by maybe-there
Summary: Malik wants the world to end and Altair wants to go back home. But reaching goals requires teamwork... Modern AU- timetravel
1. Chapter 1

This takes place in a modern world where the assassins existed the way the games portrays them. Hope you like it :) Feel free to point out mistakes, English isn't my first language and I really like to improve my language skills!

It had been raining the whole day. Raindrops ran across the windows of the old tram. Scribbles on the walls and worn out cushions on the seats made it seem much dirtier than it really was. Malik looked up into the mouse-grey sky. 5 pm. It would be dark soon. He was on his way from university back to his small apartment. He grabbed his bag and searched for the black umbrella inside it. The textbooks and folders with notes looked unimportant. Nothing had seemed important for a long time. Malik studied history. Specifically Middle eastern history. When he started to study he had dreamt of travelling to Asia and Greece, working as an archeologist and finding documents and treasures left there hundreds of years ago for future people to explore. Now in his third year of studying, these dreams were rotting away under books about dead languages, bills and photos in black frames.

Malik opened the door the apartment he lived in. A two room, bathroom, kitchen combination in the city's outskirts. The district was as old and rotten as the tram leading to it. The rain coated the concrete buildings in wet layers of dust and blended them together with the sky. Like the sea, Malik thought to himself as he looked out of the narrow kitchen window. It was ugly, yes, but it was cheap. He took of his slightly damp cloak and proceeded to brew some coffee. While listening to the blubbering of the slowly cooking water and watching the raindrops run across the kitchen window, he realized how quiet it was. He should be used to it by now, but he still wasn't.

Three months ago he'd moved out of the flat he'd shared with some friends to live together with his little brother Kadar. They'd chosen the cheap flat, saying they'd need the money for more fun things than rent. Kadar wanted to study sociology and Malik had been glad to get his brother out of the flat where they had lived together with their parents. Living alone wasn't difficult for either of them. Their parents were busy people and they had been taking care for themselves long before moving out. It had been stressful but happy days filled with work but also with dreams and hope.

Nobody knew who it had been or even what it had been, but on their way to campus Malik and Kadar hat gotten into a terrorist attack. A small bomb had exploded in the crowded main station, killing a few people and sending many more to hospital. When Malik had woken in a hospital bed, drugged and one-armed, he'd found out that his brother had been one of the victims. After that nothing mattered anymore. The discussions on why the explosion had been so small was unimportant, why no one claimed to be responsible was unimportant, that it was decided that it had been an accident was unimportant, his parents wish to live with them was unimportant and his studies where unimportant. Kadar was gone. Malik wanted the world to stop, but it kept turning. Everything continued as if the accident never happened. The professors and other students expected him to be on time and ready while he just wanted to press pause and cry. It had gotten slightly better over the past two months, but he still felt as if he was separated from their world, like they were living a happy fantasy.

The coffee was nice but homework waited, so Malik tried to focus on the ancient Arabian testament in front of him. Fifty minutes into translating, he stumbled across an unknown word. Sighing, he searched for his phone to translate it. Shit. He'd left it in the lecture hall. Damn, this meant getting back outside into the rain again.

Luckily the phone had been dropped off at the caretakers office. Back on his way home, with an umbrella in hand, Malik thought about how the others would have reacted to somebody taking their phone. He didn't really care, there was no valuable information on it, and he was so boring to his fellow students, that nobody would take pleasure in ruining his reputation. In a way, he didn't even have one. Malik laughed inwardly, looks like my social life died with you, Kadar, he thought.

Under an underpass not far from his flat, Malik noticed a strange new arrangement of plastic bags and cardboard. A bum was shoveling around inside it. Malik passed the makeshift bed without a second glance.

_"Damn this fire-creator!"_

He stopped dead in his tracks. Whoever had said that had spoken the same dead language that his homework was written in. Malik turned around but he only saw the bum, trying to light a match. The guy looked off. His clothes where dirty and torn, made out of scratchy rough fabric, but that was to be expected. It was the style that was unfitting. The length of his cloak, the weird cowl, the boots. _"It can't be helped. It is too wet"_, the bum growled.

"What did you say?!", Malik asked, his voice much more demanding than he intended it to be. The man jolted back, surprised. "I no saying a thing!", he answered in broken English, while staring into Malik's eyes. What an odd color, he thought. Suddenly a knife appeared inside the man's hand. Malik staggered backwards and lifted his hand to his head. He switched to modern Arabic: "Look, I didn't mean to threaten you! You were speaking in a very old language and caught me off guard!" The stranger tilted his head to the side slightly. "You understand I?" , he asked. He must have understood most of my last statement, Malik thought. The stranger took a step forward, Malik hands still high, stepped backwards. The man didn't exactly smell like roses. "Yes I do. Why did you use that language, where are you from?" The blade vanished. "The holy land", the bum answered in his old dialect.

Malik took a deep breath. He'd gotten himself into some deep trouble. This man didn't speak proper English, or modern Arabian, lived on the street and called a box of matches a fire-creator. It was obvious that he was insane. Malik's inner voice screamed at him for being so stupid, but another part of him was glad about the strangeness and the excitement that came with it. His life had been an endless grey slur for far too long.

A trail of emotions was visible on the strangers face. From neutral, to confused, to nervous about the fact, that he didn't get an answer. He backed away slightly. Malik tried ignore the voice in his head that told him to run, lowered his arm and regained his posture. Then he took a deep breath and stared straight at the hooded man in front of him: "Are you insane?"

It was a rhetorical question of course, but the effect it had on the stranger was astounding. His expression changed from nervousness to despair and now he was holding his hands up and shaking his head. " No I'm not! I can explain this, but please don't get them!" "Who?", Malik wondered. Understanding the man' s accent was getting easier with every sentence. "The men with the blue clothes and the screaming blue light!" He used the English word for light. It sounded like it was foreign to him. Like an unknown dish or technical term. Still, Malik caught on. The man was talking about the police. "I won't", Malik answered. So far the man hadn't done anything harmful anyway, and Malik still held on to his wish that the man might be just drunk: "But only if you can explain yourself!"

The stranger fidgeted for a second and then held out a small golden ball. " I traveled trough time. I wanted to experiment with this artifact and ended up here in the future." Malik scoffed, after piecing the explanation together with his phone's translator. The man eyed the device nervously, but didn't move. "You don't expect me to believe that do you?" His companion for the evening thought for a second. "You remember the explosion in the... station two months ago?" That got Malik's full attention. The next second Malik was blinded by light and thrown back onto the ground by what felt like a fire wall. Just like on the station. Next thing he knew, he'd punched the stranger in the face. Said man had the knife in his hand again and his teeth gritted, but he didn't attack. "You killed my brother!" Malik spat. The stranger was startled and took another step back. His voice sounded worried when he replied. "Did they find his corpse?" Malik was furious. How could this scum talk about his brother like that?! He raised his fist to hit the man again, but the stranger grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes, strangely calm. "No.", Malik growled. The man's face lit up. "Then there is still hope. " Malik got himself free and punched the man again, he tumbled to the ground, a hand lifted to his face. "There is no hope!", Malik screamed "Kadar is dead, you killed him!"

Swiftly he turned around and grabbed his phone. Halfway into typing 911, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "He could be in the past where I came from!", the man said. "During my experiments this, this teleportation tended to happen." Malik eyed the ball in the man' s hand curiously. He'd seen and felt it's power and objects like these weren't unheard of. If this were to be true, there was a chance that Kadar was still alive. The man' s speech and clothing fitted his story and this was a little bit too much work, to be a teenage prank. There was also no doubt that the man had been living under poor conditions. Aside from the smell, his hair was messily cut and his face was dirty and uncleanly shaved, with lots of little cuts. He'd probably kept himself halfway normal looking with that knife of his.

"Then bring him back!", Malik demanded. The bum huffed. "I can't. The Apple is broken. I tried to a moment ago and it failed again. I try every day to go back home, but I can't figure out why it doesn't work anymore. I 'm glad you understand me. I've seen you before, you go into that fancy palace and bring out books in my language! I was wondering if I could get those, which is why I'm here tonight in the first place! I need your help." Malik couldn't help but laugh. It was absurd, but somehow it made sense. If he were lost in the future, he'd probably seek after someone or something he could understand to. Still he wasn't completely convinced.

The stranger looked rejected. Slowly he turned around to his bags, crouched and started packing them together. " So you don't believe me. I should have known that, sorry for troubling you.", he said, while getting back up. "No", Malik said, " I don't believe you yet. You said you could read those books I get from university. I've got an old text in my apartment. If you can tell me where it is from and what's its significance is, I'll believe you, and I'll try o help you. But you better hope that my brother was really transported into your time."

The stranger smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks a lot to the people that are following, reviewing and favorising this story. Your support always makes my day and you cheer me up all the time. Thank you :) Yes, there will be more Shenanigans and Altair will probably be confused a while longer ;). Sorry for updating so incredibly slowly,but I'm in my final year of school and I have to work a lot.

Anyway this story could be a romance, or it could be about friendship. Since I can't decide, I think I'll let you decide. Do you want this to be about friendship or romance? Send me a message and tell me what you would prefer.I believe in democracy, so the thing that gets more votes wins ;) also if I get no messages at all, this will be a friendship story.

Have fun!

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><p>Ten minutes into their slow walk through the grey flood that seemed to pour out of the clouds endlessly, Malik still tried to piece together what had actually happened. Yes, he had seen the device, that supposedly caused the explosion and he had heard the stranger speak the old accent his homework was written in, but still bringing a reeking weirdo with a knife in his home, was definitely not one of his better ideas. He clutched his umbrella a little tighter. 'If things go really, really wrong, I can always shoot him.' Malik thought. He'd done shooting as a sport for a long time, but after Kadar wasn't there anymore something about it seemed wrong. He'd never shot anything remotely alive, only unmoving targets or target pigeons and the most violent thing he could recall in his life were a few brawls on school yards and laser tag- matches with former friends, but still, handling a deadly object had just seemed sickening up until now. But in this brief moment, Malik was happy that, if necessary, he'd be able to defend himself against that strange dagger the guy possessed. The very next moment he scolded himself for this thought. How could he find comfort in another's death? How could he even consider this option? He shook his head, 'Malik, you've been alone for way too long' he thought.<p>

The stranger was soaked from the rain by the time they reached Malik's flat. Malik kind of felt bad about it, but the guy's stench was too bad to walk as close together as the small umbrella would have required them to. The man didn't seem to mind anyway. He looked at the apartment building with a mixture of skepticism and hope on his face, while Malik opened the door. Halfway into the small dirty hallway Malik stopped and tuned around. The stranger hesitated to follow him into the house. 'He's as nervous as I am', Malik thought. Then he scoffed: " Have you lived on the streets for so long, that you've forgotten how doors work?" The confused look on the strangers face told Malik that he didn't understand what he said. Too many modern expressions perhaps."Oh, come on!" he tried again his voice annoyed by now "You want me to help you, so quit being a fraidy cat and come in!" the stranger followed him inside slowly, even though the confused expression didn't leave his face.

"God, you smell awful!", Malik said as they climbed the stairs to his apartment. In this clamped space, the wind couldn't blow the smell away. The stranger frowned, then sniffed. "There are no bathhouses in the city. for the longest time I wondered how you people keep clean until I came across a market in a hall where they sold ceramic tubs. Do you each have one of your own?" "You mean bathtubs? Yeah I do, most flats have one."

An hour later, the bum was standing, freshly washed and dressed in Malik's old clothes, in his kitchen with a bucket of water in his hands. "Could you show me the courtyard please? I need to dispose of the dirty water and I need to wash my robes." The only answer Malik's brain could muster up was: "Ah. Shit." Then he took the bucket out of the strangers hands, poured the water back in the tub and pulled the stopper. "See, you don't need to..." Only now did the stranger step behind him. "You cursed." Malik took the folded robes. "Yes, I did, don't tell me you didn't curse in your... time?" He grabbed a strange looking bracer. A hand shot forward and squeezed his wrist. Malik dropped the instrument and the stranger attached it to his forearm: "Not without reason. Don't take my things."

Malik grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. "Okay listen up, asshole. You are in my house. You don't have an ID and you have no fucking clue how anything here works. You are at my mercy so you better stop trying to order me around, got that?!" Malik was pissed. He had taken the man into his home and let him use his bathroom, not to mention that he believed the strange stuff he said and as a reward he was ordered around? No, definitely no! The man freed himself. his face was twisted into an ugly snarl. "I'm at nobody's mercy!" Malik laughed "Trust me, you are, it takes one call from me and you can have yourself a nice little trial, for your explosion on that station. And then they'll put you in an asylum, you know what that is? An Asylum? That is if they let you live in the first place of course. After all no one is going to believe your time travel bullshit and you got a nice amount of blood on your hands..." Malik took out his cell phone with a dim grin. "I literally hold your life in my hands, my friend."

From the look on his face, the bum had definitely understood what an asylum was. His shoulders had slumped with the realization that Malik was right. "Please don't." he answered quietly. "Don't call them." Malik sighed "You know what? You haven't given me proof of your origin yet. I'll get the text. You wait in the kitchen."

The man looked through the text carefully. His eyes widened with every line he read. His hands started to tremble. 'Come on', Malik thought, It's just homework it can't be _that_ interesting'. His companion put the copy back onto the table and straightened his face. " The text is a will, by a man named Jubair al Hakim, he was a scholar and he planned to burn all books of Damascus to ensure that people would think freely. He bequeathed his own supply of books to a man named Robert de Sable, so that he could still read them. He also wanted to give his house and family into his hands. And well... he ah... expected to be killed by a man in white clothing. Ah-and his fortune should be used for revenge against this man's organization. He wants to see ..ah..their robes become as redastheirsashes.", he stumbled a little on the last words and Malik had to look up a couple of his expressions with his phone, which seemed to unnerve the man. His eyes followed his movements as if he was expecting something. "What a strange text" Malik mumbled to himself."But anyway as far as I'm concerned you explained everything correctly... you could be really useful!" The man stared at him with a questioning look on his face. "And?" "Well, a deal is a deal. You've proven where you come from. I'll let you stay, and I'll help you with your research."

Malik sat on the other kitchen chair. "Now that you'll stay here... what is your name?"The man smiled. "Altaȉr Ibn-L'Ahad."


	3. Chapter 3

Nothing much to say, except that so far, this story will stay friendship. The deadline for voting is 1st. February.

Thanks to all the readers and reviewers. You make me happy :) Have fun!

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><p>Altair was lying on the ground, when Malik came into the TV- corner to wake him the next morning. Apparently he'd gathered the pillows from both the kitchen-chairs and the old worn out couch, arranged them in a pile and proceeded to sleep on the floor on top of them. It was a rather pathetic sight, considering that there were only four pillows, but it seemed to be comfortable enough. Malik sighed. They planned to go into the university library today to search for information on the 'apple'. He'd checked the internet for information, but he didn't really find anything. Most 'apples' were either sculptures or power symbols owned by former kingdoms. Adding 'time travel' to the mix proved even less useful, as it only led to rants from conspiracy nuts. The only useful link had been a museum in another city that hosted an exhibition with ancient objects and had something that looked at least similar. Still, if they wanted to visit it, they would have to drive for at least a day and that was something Malik really didn't want to do, while Altair was still confused by about half of the objects around him.<p>

But now, it was time to get going. "Hey, wake up, lazy!" Malik said. Altair slept. "Hey, can you hear me? Get up!", he repeated, louder this time. Altair turned around, but continued sleeping. Malik yawned. Then he started nudging Altair's side with his foot. "Get up", he mumbled "Get up, get up, get up!" Altair started to wind and grunt quietly. He sat up and blinked lazily. Malik huffed:" You're quite hard to wake you know that? Also you could have slept on the couch. I kind of expected you to, but..." "Actually this is the first night here, where I didn't wake up. You have nice pillows." Malik put his hands in his pockets. 'Well' he thought 'that makes sense, cities are loud. I couldn't sleep with the noises.'

He sighed: "The city never sleeps..." "It's not the noises." Altair said. "your cities are weird. Where I come from you can sleep wherever you want. Well except for the roofs. But here, these strange guards will pick you up and..." Malik grabbed Altair by the collar " You've been caught by the police?!" Altair looked shocked:"No I never got caught! That's what I was talking about. You'll need to sleep with one eye open or they'll get you!" Malik let go of his collar and sighed relieved." Why is it so important that they don't catch me? I though they kill you like normal city guards, but that wouldn't frighten _you_.", Altair said while standing up.

Malik rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and then pinched his nose. He'd been wrong. He'd thought the biggest threat was the man himself, but in reality the fact that Altair didn't have an ID was way worse. Both of them would be in big trouble when found out. After all, Altair wasn't registered anywhere. Nobody knew that he existed and while objects with strange powers were not unheard of, time travel certainly was. If the authorities found out, Malik would have lived a normal life for the longest time and god knew which division of the state would want to analyze Altair's "accident" first. He was an illegal immigrant, with blood on his one hand and a dark secret in the other. And Malik was the one helping him. The threat he'd spoken so carelessly last evening was very real. He'd dragged himself into a mess much bigger than he at first expected.

Altair was looking at him, concern written all over his face. "Tell me.", he demanded. Malik straightened. " The guards are called police. I assume you remember our little dispute from yesterday." Altair's face went stiff in a matter of seconds:"yes." Malik smiled weakly. Nobody liked to be reminded of their powerlessness. "Now that you live with me, I'll face consequences too if you get caught." Altair's face fell back into its neutral state. " Don't worry it won't happen. But stop pulling at me." Malik scoffed. "sorry about that, I get angry pretty easily."

Later, Malik was trimming his beard in the bathroom when Altair came in with a knife in his hand. "Whoa! Stop right there!", he barked. But Altair wasn't moving anyway. He let the knife in his hand vanish. Malik took a closer look and realized that it was a blade integrated into the bracer, controlled by a ring on the pinkie and a sturdy leather strap leading from the casing to said ring. The mechanism seemed fairly complicated and Malik would have loved to take a closer look, but it was attached to a man who had made it very clear that he didn't want his things taken.

Altair stared at the electric razor Malik had used to trim his beard. "How does it work?", he asked. "Electricity", Malik answered. "What is that?" "Too complicated to explain right now. What did you want here anyway?" "Shave", was the answer. Malik started to laugh: What? With that knife of yours? How is that supposed to work?" Altair frowned. Then he stepped next to Malik and unsheathed the blade. "The same way it worked every morning since I came here.", he murmured, and brought the blade to his face. Malik stood behind him with his arms folded, trying really hard not to 'accidentely' push his new flat mate. Altair cut himself without his 'help' anyway. After the third time, Malik face-palmed and held out the electric razor. "Just use this. It'll be quicker and you won't bleed all over my sink."

Altair frowned. He was contemplating if not cutting himself was worth admitting defeat. Malik started to snicker, his new companion was apparently very strict in his principles and proud to the point of stupidity. Altair's frown deepened into an angry snarl. He grabbed the razor, while mumbling into his nonexistent beard that "it did work" and "he just took it to be done faster!" A few minutes later, his face was cleanly shaved and the cuts had stopped bleeding, but his hair still looked like a mix between a hedgehog and a birds nest. Malik's too large shirt hung from his smaller shoulders and the borrowed pants where both too wide and too short. Malik folded his arms over his chest. "You know, if you are going to live among normal people now, you are going to need some clothes. And a haircut."

Somehow, this seemed to upset his flat mate. "I don't like your clothing. It reveals too much." Malik was dumbfounded. "How? I mean yeah, women walk around with more revealing clothing, but men's clothing isn't too different from yours..." Altair stared to walk out of the bathroom. Malik followed. "Yes it is. Everyone here wears special clothing. Look at your robe. It is bright blue and has birds on it. And the sleeve is pinned. You could be recognized very easily. Not to mention that nothing covers your head."

Malik tried to read the others expression. He looked like this was really causing him discomfort. Malik ran a hand through his hair. It was an attempt at smoothing it, a subconscious gesture. He tried to calm his own nervousness: "So you fear, that someone could recognize you. Who would benefit from knowing who you are?" Altair remained silent and pulled his boots over the jeans. Malik crouched and pulled the legs over the boots. "It looks more normal this way. And?" "No one. I just don't want to be remembered. You yourself said that it would be dangerous.", was the answer he got. Malik put his own jacket on and unlocked the door. Then the two were back on the same path they'd taken yesterday. "You are right. But the right now, you are more recognizable because you look quite odd for our standards. You like to blend in with the crowd, I guess. This should be your first step. By the way, what I'm wearing is a shirt not a robe." Altair turned his head from left to right. His gaze lingered over a pile of blue garbage bags in an alleyway for a second before he looked straight ahead again. "Camouflage.", he mumbled. Malik nervously fumbled with the phone in his pocket. "Yes, it's a little like camouflage."


End file.
